I t was the spring of 1997, almost a year since my husband's passing. I still had trouble focusing on anything; however I had to start somewhere to get on with my life. I had previously typed up 150 pages of my autobiography on my laptop word processor and decided to purchase a "real computer" and get back to it.

While I was checking with the various computer schools, a course outline from some place called Creative Retirement found its way into my mail box. (It was actually addressed to another person in the apartment building where I lived.) Curiosity got the best of me and I opened it. I discovered that this place was offering computer courses at affordable prices and decided to look into this.

I had given our car to my daughter because I hadn't driven for more than twenty-five years and had to resort to using Winnipeg Transit to get to and from the West End Senior Centre where classes were being held. The bus ride was a long and tedious one, but I had more time than I knew what to do with, and I really was determined to master the computer.

Our class was comprised of approximately ten women and six men. After class one day, as I waited for my bus at the bus stop, a car pulled up and the driver rolled down his window and motioned for me to get in. I thought, "Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am?" I waved him on.

After the next class, one of the men in our class came up to me and said, "I don't want to embarrass you at the bus stop again, but I'm going downtown and I'd be happy to give you a ride." I realized that this was the "pickup" man. "I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't recognize you. I know the back of your head in class, but didn't recognize you away from this setting." He was so tall, over six feet, a foot taller than I. But what difference did that make? It was only a car ride downtown.

Well, during this ride, I learned that he had lost his wife of over fifty years just four months ago. I told him I had lost my husband of over forty years almost a year ago. He introduced himself and I did likewise.

"Len Bateman?" I questioned. "Why does that name sound familiar? Did you ever work for the Manitoba Government?" I had worked for the government many years ago. "No," he said, "I was with Manitoba Hydro." "Of course," I said, "I do remember that name in connection with Hydro. My husband worked there." And he dropped me off downtown where I got my connecting bus.

Following the next class, this kindly gentleman came up to me again, saying, "I'm going the same way today." I went along again. This time, he asked where it was exactly that I lived. I said, "On Cambridge in River Heights." "That's close to where I live," he said, "I'm not going directly home today; however, next week, I can take you right to your home." And that's exactly what happened.

After the last class of the spring session, we stopped for a cup of coffee and when Len dropped me at my apartment building, I asked if he was going to take more classes in the fall, and when he said he was, I said, "Then I'll see you in the fall." He stuttered and replied, "There's going to be another class during the summer. Would you be interested in going?" And we did.

Before we knew it, we found we were becoming more interested in each other than in computers. We planned a June, 1998 wedding. In the meantime, I had learned that Len suffered with a food allergy - an allergy so severe that an attack could be life-threatening.

Well, I purchased a "real computer" and began researching allergies on the internet. As a result of extensive research and a process of elimination, Len is now symptom free. There is a moral to this story. "If you become a member of Creative Retirement, you can not only be lucky enough to find a cure for what ails you, but you might be lucky enough to find a wonderful husband (or wife)."

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Internet Allergy Research Revelations

When I met my husband Len, he suffered with an allergy - an allergy with severe manifestations. His tongue and throat would swell to such a degree that he'd have trouble breathing and would have to take antihistamines immediately in order to bring down the swelling. He carried an epi pen with which he could inject himself in the case of a severe reaction.

That's when I got my "real computer" and started researching allergies.

I got into every medical research centre I could locate, including the Mayo Clinic.

Len was afflicted with this allergy since he was a young man. Various tests did little to pinpoint his problem. I began to think that maybe it wasn't a particular food that he was allergic to, but perhaps an additive or preservative, for which there are no tests.

To my amazement, I found that much research was done on just this subject. Since Len's reaction would have resulted in anaphylactic shock (which can be fatal if not attended to immediately), I searched in this category. I found lists of additives, preservatives and food colourings, and their side effects. I discovered that most of the food colourings were not "food" but coal tar derivatives - yes, coal tar. They are used, not only to colour foods, but to preserve other colours.

Using a system of elimination, and keeping a list of everything Len ate, I was able to narrow it down to yellow food colouring #5 (and possibly #6).

When I found that research centres had asked that red food colouring and yellow food colouring (tartrazine) be removed from foods, I was shocked to find that in Canada and United States, the red colouring was removed; however the other was allowed, because, they said very few people were found to be allergic to it. Yet Len and I have since found that a number of people in our immediate circle are allergic to this particular chemical. We believe most people just don't know it's an additive they are allergic to, and they try avoiding certain foods, as Len did.

Do you know that most foods contain additives?

Len is fine now. We read labels very carefully and determine what is in food when we eat in a restaurant. If in doubt, Len doesn't eat it.

He had a reaction after eating a hot cross bun from a major supermarket and we found that the bun was fine, but, instead of candied peel, they were using little bits of sweetened rutabaga, coloured with the dreaded tartrazine.

We created quite a fuss with the chain; however, got nowhere. In fact, we have found since, that they don't even put the ingredient label on the package. We were told that, if you want to know what the ingredients are, they'd be happy to dig out their binder and find out for you.

Those were the results of our explorations. Thought we'd pass them along.